


Stiles Stilinski's Knitting School for the Were, Other-Worldly and Supernaturally-Inclined

by TypewriterLove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski IF YOU SQUINT - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Knitting, M/M, Mama Stilinski Feels, Pack Family, Ravelry, sort of, weird things happen when Stiles gets bored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypewriterLove/pseuds/TypewriterLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd trawled through online pattern directories, before finding something called Ravelry. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he'd hit the "register now!" button.</p><p>ScarletNerded's first action on their new account is to look up patterns with "wolf" keywords.</p><p> </p><p>(In which Stiles ends up teaching the entire pack how to knit- which results in werewolves making socks. Alternatively named "Beacon Hills Stitch & Bitch")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski's Knitting School for the Were, Other-Worldly and Supernaturally-Inclined

**Author's Note:**

> My first post on AO3 is a knitting fic for Teen Wolf. That really just figures. 
> 
> (note: all patterns mentioned are linked to their real-life counterparts. You might need Ravelry to access most of them, however.)

It began in the way most things did in Beacon Hills- as a result of Stiles' boredom.

(Well, sort of.) 

9 years ago, Stiles had been a hyperactive seven year old with too much energy and nowhere to put it. Which, understandably, had led to a whole lot of broken bones, random paint splatters and choppy, safety-scissor haircuts. (Which, as a matter of fact, had been the cause of Stiles' trademark buzz-cut in the first place. Even now, years later, he still liked skimming his fingers over short fringe.)

 

But one afternoon, all those years ago, his homework was done. Scott was at the doctor's for his asthma again, and his dad was down at the station. Which meant that, after growing bored with his Power Ranger actions figures, there was absolutely nothing to do but go find (and subsequently bother) his mom. 

 

When Stiles came tripping down the stairs, narrowly avoiding a cheekfull of hard wood flooring, he was slightly surprised to see his mom sitting quietly on the couch, the TV a muted chatter in the background as she focused on some sort of yarn-thingy in her hands. He padded over to his mom and settled up onto the cushion besides her, grinning when she smiled at him. "Are you sewing?" he asked, confused by the needles and too-large thread. 

 

His mom had just laughed. "Nope, little Gem." she teased, pausing in order to poke him in the cheek. "I'm knitting." she explained, resuming her work and sending her fingers flying over the yarn, even as she smiled down at Stiles. He made a thoughtful noise as she turned back to her work, and stared as the loops and knots continued to make the. . . whatever-it-was grow. 

 

But of course, this was Stiles. So his mother had barely made it to the end of the row before he started fidgeting; tucking and untucking his legs, pulling on the sleeves of his shirt, roving his eyes around as if suddenly, something other than his regular old living room would appear. Mrs. Stilinski gave a long, bemused sigh, before sparing an arm from her work to curl itself around her son. "Would you like to learn, little Gem?" she asked. His neck whipped around and he stared, wide-eyed up at her. Stiles glanced back down at the knitting, lying still and motionless in her lap, and chewed his bottom in consideration. After what probably seemed like a long moment to a 7-year old, he nodded decisively. 

"Yes." he declared quite seriously, reaching out a careful hand to pet the yarn, as if it were a dog that might bite. Mrs. Stilinski just smiled some more, put her knitting to the side and grabbed some spare needles and red yarn. "Well first, we cast on the stitches. . ."

 

* * *

 

9 years later, Stiles Stilinski was crouched on his bedroom carpet, boxes and papers scattered around him, as he stared at the semi-moth bitten remnants of what had once been a scarf. It was still attached to metallic green needles, it's red stitches loose and childish. When he hesitantly splayed the swatch between his fingers and pressed it to his nose, Stiles could almost make out his mother's perfume. 

 

It was late-summer, and the inevitable return of the school year had almost arrived. In a desperate attempt to take his mind off of it, Stiles' had decided to take up some Spring cleaning.

(Er, summer cleaning.)

Which meant combing through the detritus that had accumulated in his closet over the course of the last few years. Shoes he'd only ever worn once, old "treasure maps" signed "Captain Stilinski and First Mate Scott McCall" in the bottom corners.  Old backpacks and t-shirts (he seriously had a ridiculous amount of them) and random, teetering piles of things like mythology books and jars of mountain ash. It also meant coming across things like this; boxes full of old Power Rangers figurines, half-full packs of Crayolas and bright red scarves that were never finished.

 

Shockingly, both needles were present- Stiles would've expected to loose the other years ago. He'd carefully lifted the needles, swatch, and still-wound ball of yarn out of the box and rewound the ball where it'd unraveled. Stiles knew he wouldn't be able to remember it, _shouldn't_ be able to- knew that it'd been years and he'd never even managed it when his mother was still around to teach him. But for some reason, he'd leant back on his heels and arranged the needles into his hands. Gingerly stabbing into the first stitch and looping the yarn around the needle, Stiles remembered his mother's voice, remembered the story of the bunny who went scampering around trees and down holes. 

 

"Sneak into the wolf's den, talk circles 'round their heads. Sprint out of the den, pray they don't kill me dead." Stiles muttered under his breath, snorting at his more accurate adaption of the tale. After a few minutes of too-loose and too-tight stitches, Stiles had finally found a happy medium and continued knitting, scooting back against the floor so he could lean against the closet doors as he worked. Hunching his knees up, he'd toed off his socks and wriggled his toes against the floor, humming as the yarn flowed beneath his hands and the stitches grew and grew and grew. 

 

By 4 AM, Stiles' once-huge ball of yarn had dwindled down to little more than a red marble of wool. Stretching the work (which could now be called nothing other than a scarf) and experimentally wrapping it around his neck, Stiles had grinned, satisfied at it's length. Still wearing the needle-toting scarf, he'd jumped up and wandered over to his laptop, pulling up Google whilst unconsciously fingering the edge of his work. 

 

"How to cast off knitting. . ." he muttered as he typed. 

And then, 6 minutes, 2 attempts and 1 pointlessly long youtube video later (seriously, why the hell would you need eight minutes to explain how to cast off?), Stiles was jiggling his knee, wearing a now-completed scarf. 

Biting his lips, Stiles hesitated for barely a minute before bringing Google back up and typing into the search bar.

 

"knitting basics"

 

He hit search.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, school had finally begun again. The sun was still clinging to it's spot in the sky, but the icy chill of fall was beginning to seep into the air. While before Stiles might've groaned about the wind and bitterly hunched into his hoodie, his amateurish scarf went a long way to keeping him warm, and Stiles delighted in pulling the red wool up to cover the tip of his nose. In Chemistry he'd stared outside at the leaves that danced in the breeze, and flexed his chilly fingers. Maybe he could make some gloves too? Surely red yarn wasn't hard to find. And what about socks? Would socks be too hard? It was just knitting a tube, right? He couldn't imagine _tubes_ being too difficult. Or what if-

 

"Mr. Stilinski, while I'm heartened to know that you get such joy out of the changing of the seasons, I'd ask you to kindly save your awe until class is _over_ , thank you." Mr. Harris called out, quirking a brow in annoyance. Stiles nodded and shot him a thumbs up, grinning even once Mr. Harris turned back to the board. Inebetween taking notes, Stiles sketched out gloves and mittens in the corner of his pages until the bell rang. 

 

 

The next Monday, Stiles had showed up to school with [bright red fingerless gloves.](http://www.creativefidget.com/wordpress/?p=3713)

 

By Wednesday, he had a [matching hat.](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/baker-street-beanie)

 

Friday, Stiles had finished lunch early and grown bored by the saccharine-sweet conversation Scott and Allison were wrapped up in. So, shrugging, he'd tugged a length of forest-green yarn and rosewood needles out of his backpack, easily tuning out the chatter of the cafeteria as he'd worked on the cables for [his dad's scarf](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/twisted-cable-scarf-2). He spent the entire afternoon break like that, focused on his knitting and ignoring the stares and accompanying murmurs of his classmates. When the bell had finally rung and Scott reluctantly got to his feet, Stiles had grinned at the still-improving length of the scarf and carefully stowed it away into his backpack. Allison had given him an odd, thoughtful look as he waved goodbye, but Stiles just chalked it up to his knitting and disregarded it.

 

On Monday, the situation became obvious when Allison purposefully sat next to _him_ , rather than the now-pouting Scott. Stiles spared his attention from his ribbing to stare at her, raising a brow that quite clearly asked _okay what did I do because I prefer not dying on school campus thank you so much_. But Allison just smiled beatifically and glanced down at his now-stilled needles. "I was wondering if you could teach me how to do that?" she asked, batting her eyelashes in the way that always worked with Scott.

 

. . .it worked for a reason though. Jesus, the two of them _both_ looked like puppies. Stiles sighed, resolved to his fate, and promised to bring some extra needles and yarn tomorrow. Allison grinned and gave him a quick, appreciative squeeze of a hug before he'd waved her back to her boyfriend, focusing once more on his work.

 

The next day, Allison had walked into the cafeteria whilst pulling her hair into ponytail. She'd looked more like she was going to war rather than to learn how to knit, and at first, Stiles had been hesitant to hand over the (pointy) bamboo size 7's that he'd nabbed from his rapidly-growing stash. He'd pulled out a fresh skein of purple yarn that Stiles hadn't had a project in mind for - rather, he'd just liked the softness - but the color seemed perfect for Allison. 

 

After stepping her through the tale of the hunter who'd "creep out of her room, run circles through the woods" and knitting the first two rows, Allison had cautiously taken the needles into her own hands, stared down at the yarn and taken a few deep breaths. If her anxiety weren't so infectious, Stiles would've found it amusing that a top-ranking gymnast, archer and professional badass was so nervous about _knitting_. But after a shaky first round, Allison had started to relax her rigid shoulders. Her fingers slipped into a natural position, and edge of the swatch crept lower and lower down until, by the end of lunch, the bottom of the swatch was brushing Allison's lap. 

 

The bell had Allison jerking her head up, staring wildly around as if she hadn't noticed the time pass. She'd looked a little sheepish, but Stiles had just grinned and said it looked fantastic and clearly, there wasn't much that he needed to teach. She'd thanked him profusely for the yarn and needles, but Stiles had just shrugged and told her to buy him some curly fries. 

 

And if Stiles had noticed a bit more of a skip in the girl's step than usual, he didn't say anything.

Nor had he felt the tiniest bit proud of himself.

Nope.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday night at 2 AM, and Stiles had finished casting off his father's scarf. He'd crept downstairs and folded it at his dad's place at the table, but right now he was staring at the burning glow of his laptop's screen and jiggling his knee, desperately wanting for a project. He'd trawled through online pattern directories, before finding something called Ravelry. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he'd hit the "register now!" button.

 

ScarletNerded's first action on their new account is to look up patterns with "wolf" keywords.

 

A slow smile broke over his face as he reached for his designated "yarn basket" and plucked out a gray ball and some double pointed needles. 

 

 

On Thursday, Stiles had a [tiny gray wolf](http://www.etsy.com/listing/114203932/spirit-the-white-wolf-pattern-pdf) sitting on his desk during every class. If Isaac/Erica/Boyd/Scott/Jackson/Lydia/every single person in the entire school _ever_ shot him funny looks, he quite purposefully didn't notice. He was rather proud of his first attempt at toy knitting, and _maybe_ he felt a need to show off his creation, affectionately dubbed Sour-Wolf. No one actually spoke up about it, so Stiles simply ignored it all and helped Allison cast off her scarf during lunch.

 

Later, when Stiles walked out behind a hand-linked Allison and Scott, he overheard Scott give a pathetic groan at the harsh slap of winter wind. Bemoaning his lack of winter hats, Scott completely missed the sneaky look that darted across Allison's face, highly similar to that of a kid with a hand in the cookie jar who, instead of freezing, grabs the entire jar and _runs_.

 

Stiles, however, didn't miss it. But he just grinned and pretended he did.

 

On Monday, Scott walked to school with a dreamy expression and [fluffy gray ski cap](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/werewolf-hat), complete with tiny, wolfish ears sewn to the top. Stiles just smirked and shot Allison a discreet thumbs-up.  

 

 

On Tuesday, Lydia Martin stood at the head of their table and pursed her lips towards Scott. 

 

"Scoot." She'd ordered, before sitting next to Allison and glancing over the [orange-ribbed hat](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/wurm) that was across the girl's needles. "How do you do that?" she asked, quirking a flawless brow and idly rubbing at the edge of the work, running her manicured nails across the stitches. 

 Allison just shot Stiles an angelic smile and resumed her work, knowing full well that Lydia was now transfixed by Allison's rapid stitches. "Oh, it's pretty easy actually. Stiles taught me how to do it. Didn't you, Stiles?" Allison prompted, winking at him annnd yup. Stiles totally loved Scott's girlfriend. 5 stars, 100% best-friend approved, would recommend. 

 

When Lydia turned and shot him an incredulous look, Stiles had just shrugged and raised his [laptop-cozy](http://pitiakhandcrafts.blogspot.com/2011/05/etch-sketch-ipad-cover.html) covered needles in lieu of explaining himself. Her brow quirked yet again, Lydia had stared at him for a long moment, before she sighed in annoyance. 

 

"Well? Aren't you gonna teach me?"

 

* * *

 

By the time the monthly pack meeting came around, Stiles had undertaken exactly 3 students. Scott had only started knitting at Allison's insistence and was easily distracted, but he'd ended up liking the motions of it and kept knitting- he was currently working on [a scarf](http://web.archive.org/web/20071117054344/www.knitlist.com/96gift/giftsscarf.htm) for his mom's birthday. Allison had become a knitting whirlwind after her introduction, and churned out socks, shawls and even [a sweater](http://owlsisters.blogspot.com/2011/05/free-paulie-for-you.html)(!) like nobody's business. Even Lydia liked it, if for nothing more than something else to excel at. After Stiles first taught her, she came to school with bamboo size 2 needles and metallic blue lace yarn, completely focused on what was obviously something quite difficult. 

 

By the end of the week, she had an [elegant blue shawl](http://feministy.com/blog/traveling-woman/) draped across her shoulders and was working on something seemingly even _more_ challenging, knitting with a honeyed gold yarn that brought additional attention to their knitty little lunch table.

Not that Stiles cared, however. On the contrary, he was pretty proud of his students. So much so, in fact, that he was strongly debating the benefits of knitting a sweater that said "Stiles Stilinski's Knitting School for the Were, Other-Wordly and Supernaturally-Inclined", when Isaac had wandered past their table and nodded his head towards their group. 

 

"Pack meeting tonight. You're all invited, of course." he'd announced, smiling in anticipation when he was met with a chorus of "see you there!". 

 

 

But somehow, Stiles had reflected, he doubted that Isaac had anticipated _this_. 

 

 _This_ being Scott, Allison, Lydia and himself all sprawled across the sooty flooring of the Hale house, carefully keeping their wool away from stray piles of ash as they bickered and chatted and knit. Derek had yet to arrive, which meant that it was just Erica and Isaac who stared at their flying needles- the former attempting to cover their curiosity with mild disgust, and the latter staring at their hands with a sort of awed reverence. Boyd just sat on one of the burnt armchairs and watched the entire situation with his usual diconcertingly-zen expression, whilst Jackson had pouted and frowned and ignored them all, sparing only a few glances down towards Lydia's complex work. 

 

Derek had arrived just as Jackson started to vocalize his complaints, a bit more glare-y and snarlier than usual (seeing as to how he'd been making great improvement on the whole, dont-shove-people-into-walls-and-threaten-to-bite-their-throats-out front), but once he had realized that A, the knitters weren't about to put their work down anytime soon, and B, they could knit _and_ concentrate on what he was saying just fine, thanks, he'd relaxed a bit and led the meeting as usual. It'd been short, admittedly; which was good, because long meetings usually meant something was trying to kill them all.

Again. 

 

So Stiles really didn't mind when, half an hour later, Derek had sighed and growled at them to "get out, and stay _safe_ , dammit.". He'd tucked his knitting - [a pair of socks with a wavy motif](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/kalajoki) that was surprisingly good for his ADD - back into his backpack and had been about to drive off in the Jeep when Isaac hesitantly ambled over, looking more at his feet than at Stiles' face. 

"Hey. Um, Scott said you taught everyone how to knit?" he'd asked, not-so-subtly tugging on his sleeves. Stiles just nodded and quirked a brow. 

 

"Ah, my grandmother used to knit. So um, do you think maybe, you could teach me too?" he'd asked hesitantly, sending Stiles what he liked to think of as the "Pleading Puppy Eyes™", which were pretty much copyrighted, Isaac Lahey and Scott McCall 2012. Giving a quick thank-you to whoever might be up there that Isaac had stopped acting like a power-hungry jerk following the whole Peter Hale thing, Stiles had done his best to assure him with a smile. "Of course I can, dude." he'd promised, grinning when a relieved smile split across Isaac's face. 

 

 

The next day, Isaac had sat next to Stiles with a look of nervous determination. Boyd and Erica trailed idly in his wake and somehow, over the course of the lunch break, Stiles had ended up teaching Isaac as Allison taught Erica and Boyd. 

By the end of it, Erica had a swatch of purple-gold yarn that she'd insisted on showing everyone, Boyd looked pleased (? Stiles was never really sure with Boyd) with his russet-colored swatch of perfectly-gauged stitches, and Isaac had been stroking his deep blue rows over and over again, spreading out the stitches and then lightly picking at the ridges.

 

The next day, Jackson reluctantly joined them, making a big show of "-only doing this stupid thing because of Lydia". Stiles had smirked and walked him through the customary 2 rows of stitches, taking notice of his apprehension when Stiles handed him the needles. He'd stumbled, cursed and frowned throughout lunch break- but when he'd thought no one was looking, Stiles had quite clearly seen him smile at his gunmetal-gray square of yarn.

 

* * *

 

When the next full moon came around, Derek had taken one look at his pack and raised a brow. His expression had been, to put it simply, "WTF". 

 

"Now this is just ridiculous." he'd growled, staring down at his pack of squabbling, yarn-entangled werewolves who were all clacking away with their respective needles. Boyd had been sitting on one of the few semi-intact couches that were strewn about the living room, working on a purple scarf and looking around with a bemused smile. Erica was perched on the armrest besides him, her fingers dangling a mess of fuchsia and gray yarn in favor of propping her chin on Boyd's shoulder. Isaac had sat on Boyd's other side, a [half-finished blue hat](http://brooklyntweed.net/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=2_4&products_id=9) attached to a strange, circular sort of needle. Meanwhile, Allison was sitting on the floor, leant back against the couch with 2 stripy sleeves resting in her lap, whilst Scott had pressed into her side and worked on. . . were those [_socks?_](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/simple-socks-recipe)

 

Then there'd been Jackson, who had scowled down at his mess of ridiculously-expensive yarn, as if he could glare it into knitting [itself](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/gap-tastic-cowl). Lydia was perched next to him on the semi-charred love seat, super-thin needles flying through a mess of stitches that had somehow been generating itself into a wispy lace shrug. And finally, sitting smack-dab in the middle of the ash covered floor with a smug grin on his lips, was Stiles. Stiles had paused in his work, which was a pair of acrylic needles attached to some sort of [square-patterned scarf](http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/cubic-scarf). It looked like one of those optical illusion designs- of course, Stiles couldn't knit a _normal_ scarf. 

 

"Hey there Sourwolf! Welcome to Stiles Stilinski's Knitting School for the Were, Other-Worldly and Supernaturally-Inclined." Stiles had declared, shooting Derek a grin as he'd stood in the doorway, still gaping at the knitting teens. "We have extra needles and yarn if you want to learn." Isaac had piped up, stroking his fingers over his blue wool. "Yeah Derek. You could knit yourself black sweaters." Erica had called. Derek had sighed in aggravation, raising a hand to his temple the same way Mrs. McCall would- except he didn't mutter "God give me strength." like Mrs. McCall did. 

 

"Can all of you _please_ focus here?" Derek had gritted out, ignoring the smirks of his pack-members in favor of speeding through the meeting. It was the same stuff as usual: Yes we're werewolves, don't _tell_ anyone we're werewolves, the full-moon is next week, don't test the treaty we have with the Argents, stay out of trouble and for God's sake, don't do anything stupid. 

Which, in Derek-speak, had meant "don't get hurt". Despite the lack of wall-shoving and subsonic growling, he was still pretty emotional constipated. Which was just another of Stiles' works in progress- not that he'd ever tell Derek. 

 

And finally, with an exhausted sigh, Derek had dismissed the pack and wandered upstairs- presumably to whatever burnt-out husk of a room he slept in. The pack had began chatting once again, packing up their respective WIP's and making plans for the next "Beacon Hill's Stitch & Bitch" whilst migrating towards their cars. But Stiles had lagged behind, making sure he was the last person to leave. Hiking his messenger bag over his shoulder, he'd carefully placed two items on the bottom stair, before darting out with the rest of the pack and clambering into his Jeep.

 

Later, Derek would stumble across the [gray, cut-off mitts](http://tinyowlknits.wordpress.com/2012/10/19/the-woodsy-association/) with wolf heads stitched onto the back. Tiny wolf-tail charms were attached to the corners, and a note in Stiles' trademark scrawl had informed Derek that "you finally have a pair of gloves that you can wolf out in. Enjoy your claw-less gloves, Sourwolf." 

 

 

(The next time Stiles saw Derek, a tiny knit wolf-tail had dangled out from beneath the cuff of his leather jacket.)

 

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> I have a running heacanon that Mama Stilinski would call Stiles "little Gem", thanks to his real name.  
> Also, Jackson would totally knit hipster cowls.


End file.
